A/N To those who had so little faith as to my updating habits, ha ha :P See? I guess I'm not that bad after all! And I guess I had to make up for the evilness of last chapter's cliffhanger. Here's what you've all been waiting for, and might I add that there's even more than just a semi-naked Ron? Oh yes…the fluffy continues!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc. are the intellectual property of JKR; no infringement is intended.

Last Chapter…

She left the girls' dormitory and headed for the boys'. The plan had been to meet Ron downstairs in the Common Room and find Harry to have dinner, but she still had fifteen minutes before they'd decided to regroup so she decided just to meet him in his room and make things quicker. The door was slightly ajar and she knocked.

"Come in, Harry," she heard Ron say from the other side, and she smiled, pushing the door open, the words "Since when is my name Harry?" on the tip of her tongue, though they caught in her throat.

Her heart stopped beating at what she saw and Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever breathe again.

Chapter 4: Allergies and Experiments

Skin; expanses of creamy white skin with just a hint of freckles. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell on a very nearly naked Ron. His hair was still wet, standing on end after having had a tumble with a towel and being roughly fingered back in place. It was darker than usual when it was wet, she remarked again, though it was only a haphazard thought. No, the bulk of Hermione's attention was focused on that little square of baby blue cotton that made up his boxer shorts—the only thing he happened to be wearing.

His back was to her which meant that he didn't know she was there—that she wasn't in fact Harry—and which meant that she could take him in, every curve of his shape, the bulging of his shoulder muscles as he looked through his trunk for some dry clothes.

"Bloody hell," Hermione muttered under her breath. This was all she needed. Was it enough that she had taken a fancy to her best friend? Of course not, she'd had to go and walk in on him half-naked and reinforce everything she'd feared. She didn't just fancy Ron; this was more than just a little schoolgirl crush. She wanted him…thought he was the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on. Ah, hell; the guy was just H-O-T and what annoyed her perhaps the most was that she'd always thought herself apart from all those girls who jumped into physical relationships without focus on the consequences. Truth was, if she focused just right, she could almost pretend that those boxers weren't there at all, could almost imagine the curve of his bare—

"Hermione!?! What are you!? How long have you been?? Do you mind!?"

Ron's shocked voice and the sight of him diving for shelter behind the bed brought Hermione back to reality. She could act in one of two ways; she could be embarrassed at walking him on him, blush and stutter and turn her back as he changed or she could act as if what she'd seen was no big deal. She felt embarrassed, somewhat, but her words sounded calm and collected when she uttered them. "Sorry, Ron; didn't realize you were still changing," she said, meeting eyes that were peeking at her from behind the mattress.

"You should have identified yourself; this is a naked place," he said, reaching one bare, creamy-skinned arm over the bed to grab a pair of jeans that had been thrown there either from his search through his trunk earlier or from a previous occasion. Hermione withheld a chuckle.

"Gee, Ron; I didn't know the fifth year boys were that close," she said, somewhat out of character for her. She didn't make crude jokes, didn't allude to anything that wasn't absolutely proper and civilized. She was the one who rolled her eyes at the boys when they made their boy comments and who scolded them when those comments got a bit out of line. What was wrong with her?

"That's not what I meant!" Ron defended adamantly as he pulled on the slacks from behind the bed, standing only after they'd been pulled over his hips and turning his back to her to fasten them. He was still bare from the waste up and the top of his boxers peeked from under the waistline of his jeans, accentuating the dip of his back, a dip that made its way up and deepened between his shoulder blades. Hermione could imagine what it would feel like to rest her cheek in that hollow, how her arms would fit perfectly around his waist. Was it normal to be thinking all these things? She knew she fancied the bloke, but was she supposed to be having visions when she was around him too? He turned again to face her, bending to shuffle through the contents of his trunk once more. She noticed a sparse covering of ginger hair leading from below his navel and retreating beneath his boxers and felt shivers creeping up her back.

"Sorry," she replied as Ron seemed to be waiting for a response. "Hey, Ron," she began, unsure of what exactly she was asking, but knowing she had to distract herself from the view of his bare chest "how are you feeling?" she said finally. Ron raised his eyebrows in question.

"Fine," he said, seeming unsure of what she meant.

"I mean, are you still feeling ill? You said you'd gone to see Madam Pomfrey," she led on so that he might get a clear idea of just where she was going with all this even if she didn't necessarily have the slightest clue.

"Oh," he answered, finally understanding. "Er, yeah, I'm all right," he said, avoiding her eyes. Instead he grabbed a Weasley jumper from his trunk and pulled it on. The sleeves were too short, and Hermione was quickly developing the urge to make it her own if she had the chance, much like the socks she'd taken from him; great, so now I'm becoming a kleptomaniac of all things Ron. Maybe she would see Madam Pomfrey as well.

~*~

He was far from being all right, he decided as they made their way down to the Great Hall for dinner. Ginny was walking with them and Ron noticed how Harry walked next to her while Hermione and he walked slightly ahead of them. Hermione's question in the dormitory had caught him off guard…her walking in on him undressed had caught him off guard, but mostly her acting as though it had been no big deal had riled him. Had she seen many blokes in their shorts? Was she an expert in that field? Was that why she'd been so standoffish in regards to the fact that he was practically naked in front of her? Ron knew it wasn't any of his business, and mostly he knew that if Hermione had gone traipsing around with some bloke she would have told him, or at the very least Harry; but the possibility, just the mere possibility that seeing half-naked blokes was a regular occurrence for Hermione was putting knots in his stomach the size of the Titanic.

And then she'd asked him if he was all right; she couldn't have picked a better time for it either, not when the fluttering was back full force, his heart was beating a gazillion miles an hour and it felt as though he'd never be able to catch his breath again. Oh, he wasn't all right at all. If anything, he was worst off than before because he'd finally realized something; he'd found his common denominator and it spelled Hermione. Now that he thought about it, he only ever felt ill when Hermione was around and hadn't Madam Pomfrey told him that there would be one thing in common with every time he experienced his symptoms? Hadn't she told him that once he found out what that commonality was that he would be closer to determining what was wrong with him?

He was allergic to Hermione Granger. Obviously, that was what was wrong with him. Even now, walking down to dinner, he could feel the beating of his heart in his chest and his brain was working non-stop. Her hair glimmered almost a pale caramel color in the candle light; her pink shirt really brought out the glow of her cheeks; her skin looked like spun silk; he wondered if it would feel like it, too. Stop it! He ordered himself, but it was no use; he'd already moved on to the shimmy of her hips when she walked and his brain wasn't the only thing that was working now.

He muttered a curse under his breath, but Hermione had obviously heard him. She turned to him in surprise, eyes wide. He thought they were the most spectacular color of brown he'd ever seen. Greenish in the center, darker around the rims, and flecked with gold throughout. He could get lost in those eyes, he thought…the allergies were worst than ever.

"Sorry," he muttered, running a hand over his face and through his hair. God, he was tired. Tired and confused and plain weary. What was wrong with him? He wasn't sure he wanted to know anymore. Allergy or no allergy he wasn't willing to stop being friends with Hermione, but just being in the same room with her lately was driving him crazy.

"Ron, you feeling okay?" Harry asked from behind him. Great, Ron thought, pick this time to take your eyes off my little sister. He wasn't really angry with Harry, he knew, but he just didn't need any more attention drawn to him; not when he himself didn't know what the hell was going on.

"Fine," he answered a bit more gruffly than he intended, then stopped abruptly, turning away from the Great Hall and heading instead towards the Astronomy Tower. "I need to be alone," he announced, walking away from the three surprised people at his back. He heard Hermione behind him.

"I'll go see what's wrong." And Harry's voice.

"Was it something I said?"

Ginny's response. "Ron's just being a prat…as usual."

~*~

Maybe he was being a prat, Ron didn't know. What he did know, though, was that if he didn't figure things out soon he might end up doing something that would cost him his friendship with Hermione. He had to think this logically; that was what Hermione would do, wasn't it? Think through everything as it had happened, every detail of what had happened, and from that figure out why it had happened? But that was easier said than done. When had this begun? When had he started feeling so bizarre every time she came near? He supposed it couldn't have been that long considering he'd only recently discovered his reaction to her, but when he thought back to previous years he realized that he had in fact felt this way before. Back in fourth year when he'd seen her at the Yule Ball looking all dressed up and fancy, his heart had beat in his chest then. In third year when they'd made up from their fight over Crookshanks eating Scabbers and she had thrown herself in his arms from relief, he remembered his stomach fluttering then. How could he have never noticed it? How could he have been so dense as not to know that he was allergic to his own best friend?

"Ron, what's the matter?" she asked, coming up behind him. The bane of his existence…or of his health, anyway. The bane of his physical and mental health. Even now he could feel himself going crazy at her proximity.

He ran his hand gruffly over his face again. "Dammit, Hermione," he cursed. He wasn't really cursing her, though his words sounded as though he was blaming her somehow. No, he was cursing himself. Cursing himself for not having spotted this before, and cursing himself for having her as a weakness. He could deal with being allergic to anyone, anyone but her. He couldn't live without her. She was the right side of his brain, his conscience, and she knew him better than he knew himself. And yet here he was finding himself not being able to get near her without feeling as though he were flying and falling all at once.

"Did I do something? Was it something I said?" He could hear tears in his voice and immediately felt sorry for his rude behaviour. He turned towards her and sighed, his back against the tower's outer wall, the wind blowing roughly through his hair.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "Ginny's right, I am a prat."

"You're not a prat, Ron. But if something happened between this afternoon and now, if I said something or did something or, I don't know, but dammit, Ron, would you just tell me what's wrong?" He felt his eyes widen in shock at the sound of her swearing. He even went so far as to flinch. Hermione Granger did not swear; Hermione Granger was the most patient person he knew. If he had angered her to this point, if he had frustrated her to such a level as to cause her to swear, then he had been a worst person than he had originally thought.

Her eyes seemed as though they were swimming in unshed tears, and her chin quivered slightly. Great, now he had made her cry; could he be any more horrible? Not able to look at her and see what he had done to her he turned towards the horizon, the skies already darkened from the rain they'd had that afternoon though the downpour had since ceased. He leaned over the stone railing, looking out towards the distance. He saw Hermione approach the rail from the corner of his eye and come to stand beside him to his left, mirroring his stance, her arms crossed over the damp stone as she looked to the distance for answers that he had yet to find for himself.

She was a few feet to his left, an arm's length he guessed, and though he could feel the fluttering in his stomach, it wasn't as strong as usual. Experimenting, he took a step closer to her and felt the fluttering increase minutely. Again he stepped closer, his arm now loosely brushing against her own, and the fluttering increased, his heart joining the soundless symphony.

"I'm sorry," he said, and she turned to look at him, her eyes locking onto his; his breath hitched. What if he increased the contact between them? He lifted a thumb to her cheek to wipe away a stray tear. His head felt lighter than usual.

"I just want to know what's wrong, Ron. Tell me how I can fix whatever I did." There was only one way he would know to what extent she could affect him; just how allergic he really was to her.

"I think we should kiss," he said. To him it was the next logical step; how much closer could two people be than when they were kissing? Apparently Hermione was having other ideas. Her eyes had grown wide and her mouth was opening and closing as though to form words though no words would come out. She'd taken a step back in her shock and the fluttering in his chest dimmed down slightly, though the beating in his heart seemed to get worst…maybe he was nervous. But of what?

"Wh-what?" she finally managed. Obviously she didn't want to kiss him. Probably felt she would be betraying underwear boy…whatever other bloke it was that she was so used to seeing half naked.

"I mean as an experiment," Ron explained, "just to see what it would be like…to see if we feel anything." He wasn't doing a very good job of explaining things. He only wanted to see if his hypothesis held; the closer he got to her, the worst his symptoms got. Lately, it seemed as though those symptoms had magnified even though the distance between them hadn't necessarily been reduced which meant that eventually he wouldn't be able to be around her at all without experiencing the allergy. Still, there was only one way to find out.

"Why?" she looked at him, incredulous as to what he was proposing. He felt almost hurt—or was it disappointed—that she so obviously was repulsed at the idea of locking lips with him.

"I think…I think I'm allergic to you," he said, and Hermione's mouth opened as she prepared to question him. He held up a hand to silence her. "I'll explain everything, but can we just—" this was a more delicate subject than he'd originally thought, "can we just…kiss…and see what happens?"

"I guess, but Ron why are you—" but he cut her off before she could say anything else. He just had to find out what this all meant. Part of him wished that he wouldn't feel anything, that this would just turn out to be a fluke, that Hermione really wasn't the common denominator and that his symptoms really were being caused by something entirely different…like a weird reaction to the soap he was using or something.

At first he'd thought he'd succeeded in disproving the Hermione theory. As his lips made contact with hers, all he felt initially was their warmth and dewy sort of moisture. She tasted like peppermints, he thought, which was interesting considering Hermione rarely ate sweets. Other than that, however, he really couldn't say he felt anything, but then again Hermione hadn't recovered from her initial shock yet. The second she began to kiss him back, his whole body felt as though it had been engulfed in flames.

He was suddenly aware of everything; there were fireworks in his head, lights flashing behind his eyelids, and the whole world seemed to be spinning out of control while time seemed to have ceased. He felt Hermione's hands rising to become tangled in his hair and felt his own arms wind around her waist, pulling her closer. The blood was rushing in his ears, his heart felt as though it would jump out of his chest and he was certain Hermione could feel it beating against her own. There was no more fluttering in his chest; it had become so severe that it had negativized itself, increased to such a high level that it had cycled all the way back to nonexistence. It was unbelievable and frightening and exhilarating at the same time, but most of all it was disheartening as Ron realized that this time, the one time he'd hoped to be wrong, he'd in fact hit the nail on the head.

The kiss broke and Ron felt as though he'd never be able to catch his breath again; he licked his lips just to be certain that what had just transcended had been more than just a figment of his imagination and pressed them together when he felt them tingling oddly. A reaction that he'd had yet to experience…until now. He almost couldn't look Hermione in the eye when she took a step away from him.

"Anything?" she asked almost scientifically, as though waiting to record her observations and draw her conclusions. It took everything he had inside himself to lie.

"Nothing." Yeah right. "You?" He asked it almost hopefully. If she had felt something too then at least it wasn't him alone; at least there could be some other cause for what he had just felt, something other than the fact that soon he would only be able to consort with Hermione if he were isolated in a glass chamber while she spoke to him from the other side.

"Nothing," she replied quietly and his heart sank. His worst fears had been realized, but there was also something else brewing deep in his gut. Her answer seemed to tear through him and shatter any hope he may have possessed, but it was more than just confirming his self-diagnosis. He didn't know why, but he'd almost hoped that Hermione would have felt something…and not just because he wanted to be proven wrong.

"Well that's good, then," she answered, a tad too cheerfully for his spirits. He managed a smile as he said something related to grabbing dinner and his spirits sunk to their lowest as he led her out of the tower and towards the Great Hall, the realization that the worst was yet to come hanging heavy on his mind—and heart.